It’s a social imperative.
When I dance, I reconnect with my body, I exert parts of
my body this patriarchal world has not even heard of, I reclaim my very subjecthood.
I can break out of the objecthood that social history and the media have forced
upon my existence, upon my relationship to myself and to others. When I dance,
I can influence the way others see me. I do, and I am not done to, I create,
and I am not created, I see crystal clearly, and I am not seen. I dance upon
the borders of passivity and crash it to dust, opening a door towards activity
that you have no power to keep me out of. When I dance, I can cut the social
prescriptions of meat market clinging to my self-representation, and my
strength to control surpasses my helplessness to refuse to be controlled.
A dancing female body is
everything but a sexual object.
When I dance, I laugh at
the self-righteous face of patriarchy.
A dancing female body pulsates with activity and power,
fizzing and sparkling to the bone. A Siamese twin pair, a schizophrenic
alliance of painter and canvas, composer and instrument, author and pen;
kinetic, musical, visual stimuli, creator embodied, a witch of rhythm who has
escaped the stake.
When I dance, I am free.
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